


Catalogue

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Comfort is good, M/M, Real life sucks sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-14
Updated: 2005-05-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi





	Catalogue

Elijah and Dom go to Mexico together to see Billy, but they don’t sleep together. There’s one spare bedroom, and they both put their bags in there, but that night Dom follows Billy into Billy’s room, and Billy doesn’t ask—kisses Dom goodnight and rolls away and falls asleep.

Dom sleeps, too, which is a minor miracle.

The next day Elijah and Billy leave him in the sun for a while. Billy goes off to film after a couple of hours, and Elijah stays on the beach with Dom. Elijah surfs and comes back, surfs and comes back. Dom sits on his towel and occasionally works his hands down into the sand, circling and digging with fingertip motions until he is buried to the wrists in hot, dry grit. Elijah surfs and comes back, and he flops down beside Dom and pants and drinks water from a bottle and lies still in the sun. Dom pulls his hands out of the beach and looks at the pale, powdery earth coating them. He drinks water, too. Sometimes Elijah rubs more sunscreen onto his skin, and sometimes he rubs more sunscreen onto Dom.

Billy returns and they go into Billy’s little house and Dom stands out on the patio and grills food, and then they go inside and Billy and Elijah eat it, and Dom manages four bites and two beers, so that’s okay. They watch a movie, and things are good—Dom can still make Billy laugh until beer comes out his nose, and Elijah is rendered helpless by Dom and Billy together—he is paralysed, bound and gagged by his giggles. They go to bed early, because Billy has to be on set at six the next day. Elijah raises an eyebrow at Dom, but Dom smiles at him and shakes his head silently. He follows Billy again, and tonight Billy rolls toward him, pulls him close and Dom falls asleep with his head tucked under Billy’s chin and Billy’s arm lying heavy across his waist.

In the morning Dom wakes up as Billy is getting dressed in the thin light of dawn. “Go back to sleep,” Billy whispers, but Dom yawns and sits up, scratching his stomach, blinking. Billy hops around the room pulling on his jeans, and when he’s clothed he sits down by Dom. “You should surf today,” Billy says quietly, one arm heavy and loose around Dom’s shoulders. He kisses Dom’s forehead, pushing the lank soft hair back. Dom closes his eyes and nods. “But wait till Lij can go out with you.” Dom nods again and Billy kisses his cheek and leaves.

Elijah finally wakes up at nine, and they’re on the beach again forty-five minutes later. Dom has Billy’s board and he runs into the water and paddles out a long way. For a while he just lies on his stomach on the board, feeling the ocean pick him up and set him down, rise and fall under him. It’s almost seasick-making, but the feeling is too deep—whenever Dom thinks he might be queasy the motion lifts him past it and he thinks, instead, of the moon and tides and the womb, of how small he is on the face of the sea. He thinks of surface tension, and watches how the water bows as he slices his hand into liquid. He paddles inland and looks for something to ride; finds it and wobbles onto his feet for a few seconds before he wipes out, betrayed by months of channel surfing.

Elijah sits on the beach and watches.

Dom goes out again, and again, and again. He catches a good wave, finally, rides it in perfectly on the last of his strength and Elijah is standing up, jumping up— “Yeah! Fuck, yeah!” he’s yelling, and something heavy and invisible peels away from Dom; he staggers onto dry land on wobbly legs, grinning.

Elijah picks him up in a bear hug and Dom grunts and laughs. “Good one, yeah?” he says, and Elijah agrees.

“Beautiful, fucking beautiful!” He kisses Dom hard, on the mouth, and they both pause for a second, but Dom shakes his head again, still smiling, and Elijah gives a little head-jerk—assent, understanding, and grabs Dom’s hand. “Come on, you need a break, you’re like a fucking rookie again. Come sit down, come eat.” He waits for Dom to unsnap the tether and then carries Billy’s surfboard up to their little camp.

Dom eats a whole orange and drinks a bottle of water and falls asleep on his towel. When he wakes up it’s because he has to pee. Elijah’s asleep beside him, a paperback fluttering its pages in the dry wind beside his pink face, and the sun is pounding down. Dom shakes Elijah and they throw their things back into the net bag and haul it and their surfboards the little way up the beach to the house.

Billy gets back in the evening and it’s his turn to cook. They eat spaghetti (eight bites) sitting out on the patio and Dom falls asleep in the lawn chair. Billy wakes him up and leads him into the bedroom. “Where’s Lij?” Dom asks, brushing the sand off his feet as he sits on the edge of the bed. Billy pulls off his t-shirt and shorts. “Already in bed,” Billy says, yawning. “Are you going to surf again tomorrow?” Dom nods and he smiles, satisfied, and then they’re curled together under the thin blanket. Dom dreams about the ocean, that rising and falling motion rocking him. He doesn’t hear when Billy leaves in the morning.

Dom wakes up and makes breakfast for himself and Elijah and they spend the day in the water again. Elijah is conscientious about sunscreen, but Dom uses a lower SPF. His nose and ears and cheekbones are pink, freckles spattered liberally across his shoulders; but he’s beginning to be tanned. He feels like the heat and sunlight are soaking in further than his surface, and when they take breaks from surfing, he lies on his back with his arms outspread and his eyes closed. The light is hot and red on his eyelids. 

“I’ve only got one more night,” Elijah says later, “make it a good one.” They do, drinking and staying up late, maudlin and then silly, falling about, giggling like idiots. 

“You’re going to be so hungover,” Billy gasps, all his horror exaggerated by the tequila. Even he knows it’s funny, and when he repeats it the dismay is laced with laughter: “So _hungover_. And—” he’s cackling now, eyebrows still pinched with sympathy even as he bends over with mirth— “and you have to _drive back!_ ” It’s hysterical, for some reason. Elijah nods and pants his agreement through his glee, and Dom pulls his knees up onto the couch, hugging them in an effort to stop the laughter because it’s hurting his stomach.

Elijah falls asleep on the sofa and they leave him there, and Billy and Dom loop and stagger back to the bedroom. Dom flops onto the bed and Billy walks around the room, talking and talking and talking, running his palms over the walls and furniture as he goes. Dom listens and then doesn’t listen, because he falls asleep.

“Drink this,” someone’s saying, “come on,” and Dom wakes up enough to bat the hands away. 

“Piss,” he mumbles, and he makes it to the bathroom and pees and then comes back and accepts the water Billy is offering him, and three pills. The room is rotating slowly, but when Dom lies back down it turns into the ocean’s heaving swells, and he falls asleep smiling.

They get Elijah up at eleven a.m., the absolute latest possible moment, and by twelve he’s on the road, cursing them both soundly, kissing each of them with a mouth that tastes of cigarettes and toothpaste. “Have fun,” Elijah tells them, and he drives away.

“Want to come on set?” Billy asks, and Dom goes with him—they’re filming afternoon and night scenes. It’s interesting, especially the ship. When they’re not filming Billy takes Dom all over it, and when they are filming, Billy sends over some of the real sailors to talk to him. Dom asks them question after question, drawing them out. There are six million ropes, and each of them has a name and a purpose, and Dom listens intently as the men point and gesture and describe. They tell him stories, and some part of Dom’s brain is busy filing the stories, filing the gestures and descriptions, accents and mannerisms away. It’s what he does. It feels a little like theft, sometimes, but also good: the most perfect, sneaky joy. 

That night they get home late—long after midnight, but it’s all right. Billy has the next three days off. They eat in the little kitchen, with mosquitos humming around the yellow ceiling light. Dom’s appetite is halfway back. He tells Billy about his life of crime, assimilating people’s memories, their personalities.

“You’re an actor,” Billy says, shrugging. He wipes his mouth neatly and reaches for his beer. “It’s what you do. Me, too.”

“Do you ever feel guilty for it? That you’re stealing from them?”

Billy drinks and then rests his chin in his hands, elbows on the table. “No.” He speaks slowly. “I know what you mean, though. Sometimes I feel like I’m… cataloguing. Because everything I do, or see other people do, could get used. Re-used.” Dom nods and stares. “I worry more that I’m stealing from myself,” Billy adds dreamily.

“…How? Why?” Dom’s sleepy again. He thinks he’s done nothing but sleep since he got to Mexico.

“I worry that I’m not in the moment, that I might miss something because I’m so busy cataloguing it.” Billy’s voice is slow and thoughtful. His eyes are lowered, the green barely visible under dusty lashes. His cheeks are freckled, like Dom’s shoulders. Heat and light. Do they go beneath the surface for Billy, too? Dom wonders. He thinks they probably do.

“Someday I’ll watch my child being born and I’ll be thinking, _And this is how a new father feels_ ,” Dom says out loud.

“Yes, like that,” Billy nods.

“Actors,” Dom says. “And maybe writers.”

Billy nods again and pushes back from the table. “Others, too, I guess. Just a certain type of person, maybe, maybe more people than we’d think.” He stands and holds his hand out to Dom.

Dom stands and takes Billy’s hand. His palm is warm and dry, fingers sure and comforting, and Dom lets Billy lead him to the bedroom again.

Dom pulls off his shirt and turns to see Billy standing naked beside the bed. A jolt of desire surges through his veins, and lines from _The Tempest_ rise in his mind: _Nothing of him that doth fade/but doth suffer a sea-change/into something rich and strange_. He smiles at Billy and nods, and pushes his shorts down and off. 

Under the blanket they curl together again, the warm whisper of skin on skin as they adjust and hold one another. “Did you sleep with Elijah?” Billy asks. His hands smooth up and down Dom’s back, gentle and drowsy.

“Yeah, for a while. But… we’re not—it wasn’t good for us.”

“Mmm.” Billy kisses Dom’s head. His hands are moving in the same patterns again and again. “Why not? I always thought…” He stops and sighs. “I thought you would get on well together, you and Elijah.”

“We did,” Dom says. “We do. But only as mates, not as… anything else. And that’s all it was, just mates, just… both of us lonely. And familiar, and sometimes it was good for a laugh. But then it got weird.”

Billy nods, his chin bumping Dom’s head. His hand slides over Dom’s back, over his side. Down his arm and onto his hip. “Uncomfortable?”

“Not like—that. Not like you might think. It wasn’t that we got too emotionally involved, but the sex got really—” Dom inhales, slow and deep, calming himself. “It got really weird, actually.”

“You both okay?” Billy’s fingers trail over Dom’s belly, and Dom inhales again, more sharply.

“Yeah. Yeah. He didn’t—he couldn’t—” He moves away so he can look into Billy’s face, make him understand. “Elijah just lies there. I mean, not like he’s cold or anything, but he just—he just takes it. It makes me mad, made me mad. And I’d be high, or whatever, and get rougher and rougher, wanting to make him—make him stop me. But he never did. And it got weird.” He bumps his forehead uneasily against Billy’s. “So we stopped a couple months ago. I went and got checked out, just because. Because I hadn’t been very careful. Elijah was the only one,” he said quickly. “But I don’t know how careful Elijah is. He’s young, y’know?”

Billy’s mouth quirks slightly, but he nods. “Yeah. Anyone since then?”

“No.” Dom gazes at him. “Haven’t—wanted to. Haven’t wanted to do anything, see anything. Hardly even wanked, can you believe it?” He snorts, trying to laugh, but Billy looks sad and Dom feels his own eyes sting with the pathos of it. 

“What do you want, Dommie?” Billy asks him. “What do you need?”

“I want. I want to take it, Billy.” Dom’s voice has dropped, it hurts his throat. “I want it to hurt.”

“Hmm.” Billy’s hands are so strong and sure, and Dom shivers again and again as they brush over his skin. “Kiss me.” Sleep seems far away again.

It’s been a long time since they really kissed. A long time, and a lot of kisses from other people; Dom has almost forgotten how Billy’s kisses taste, how deep and open his mouth is. They kiss softly at first and then Dom rolls over, rolls atop Billy and kisses him more fiercely, delving deep into Billy’s mouth. His elbows are on the bed on either side of Billy’s head, his hands tangle in Billy’s fine short hair and he pushes down, presses, shoves against him in growing ferocity.

Billy’s hands run up and down Dom’s back. His tongue is soft and slick, lips sweet and open.

It begins driving Dom mad—Elijah, it’s just like Elijah and Dom feels panic and anger twist in his belly, tangling with the heat that Billy has roused (purposefully or not) and it’s just like the times when Dom tied Elijah down and fucked him so hard Elijah’s tears soaked the pillow.

Dom grips Billy’s hair and yanks it suddenly and god, yes! _Finally_ , Jesus Christ, Dom nearly sobs with relief as Billy rolls him over suddenly and pins him firmly down. 

“I’m not him,” Billy says clearly, and he holds Dom’s shoulders and kisses him. 

Dom submits, lax and pliant between Billy and the mattress. Billy’s body is warm and heavy; his erection presses into the hollow of Dom’s hip and he kisses Dom’s mouth, then his cheeks, chin, the line of his jaw. His fingers tighten and relax on Dom’s shoulders again and again as his head eases down Dom’s neck, licking and kissing, firm but gentle. 

Neck, collarbones, sternum. Nipples, and Dom tenses again, hoping for more—more, sensation and pain and god, he wants it so bad he nearly whimpers for it. “Billy—” he says.

Billy smiles, curve of teeth and lips across the skin of Dom’s pectorals, and shakes his head. “My bed,” he says. “My rules.”

Dom waits, waits, waits, but Billy is gentle and determined, and Dom’s shaking with the need for more. “Bill,” he snaps.

Billy digs his fingers into Dom’s hips sharply, his tongue lapping softly across Dom’s nipple. “My rules,” he repeats when he lifts his head.

When he moves all the way down to Dom’s hard-on he isn’t quite as gentle, but there’s nothing approaching pain in the way he suddenly slides down over the head and then the shaft, taking Dom in one fast, sweet motion. Dom gasps and bucks, but Billy’s hands are there on his hips, his weight is unmoving on Dom’s thighs. 

Dom holds himself still and tries to breathe, and the anger rises again and again, so his eyes close, his face tightens with frustration. He endures, trembling.

Billy rises, his mouth wet and eyes bright and knowing. “Be still,” he says, and with two words Dom’s whole body goes still.

Billy’s back in a moment or three, the condom rolled over his erection, and Dom knows it’s selfish, to lie here like this and let Billy do all the work, but Jesus, god, he needs it. He wants it, and he trusts Billy, despite the fear and rage circling his ribcage, beating at him from the inside out.

Billy cups one hand around Dom’s face, looks at him steadily as he slicks his fingers down Dom’s already-wet cock.

“Catalogue,” Billy says, and Dom inhales sharply and then nods, once.

Catalogue. He closes his eyes. Billy’s hand is warm under the cool slip-slide of the lubricant. His finger slides easily into Dom, and Dom breathes. Catalogue. The sensation. His body’s response: legs falling easily open, stomach tense and then relaxed. Billy presses, circles, strokes. Two fingers. 

Billy, lilting: “Tell me.”

“More.” Dom stutters over it, eyes still shut. “My body wants more. I want to feel it. Want it. Ah—” as Billy’s fingers curl and press. “Ahh. That. But more, too—” Dom’s hands skitter over his own chest, and he circles one nipple and then pinches it, hard. He can feel Billy watching, and his cock hardens further under that gaze. Dom’s eyes open, just a slit, and he licks his lips, opens his mouth as Billy presses again and again, as his own fingers pull and twist his nipples. “More—”

“No.” Billy takes his fingers out and kneels between Dom’s legs, pushing them back and up, opening Dom. He grasps Dom’s wrists with slick fingers and moves the younger man’s hands to lie on the pillow, over his head. “Don’t move them.”

“I need more, Bill,” Dom whispers.

“You want more,” Billy says.

“Yes.” 

Billy shifts and holds his own cock with one hand, pushing against Dom’s entrance and slowly breaching it. 

“I need more,” Dom cries, fists clenched as he fights the need to grab Billy’s hips, pull him in hard and fast. The catalogue is shredding to tatters in his mind, replaced by basic want, but still some tiny part of his brain is indexing even that, even the rising, tearing emotion and need.

“You want more,” Billy repeats, and he’s in all the way, Dom’s mouth softening as he consciously lets go of the tension, lets his body relax to take Billy in. It goes from agony to perfection in a heartbeat, Dom’s hands curling loosely as his eyes flutter closed.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Please.” Billy is a weight on him and in him, filling his body as he moves, in and out, slick and smooth and strong. Dom’s brows knit and he shifts under the slow assault. “Faster,” he moans. “Harder.”

Billy’s breath warms his ear as the angle of penetration changes. “No.” His tongue slides along Dom’s ear and jaw, and Dom’s fists clench tightly as his body hardens. 

“Yes—” He rocks against the motion and gasps as this brings his prostate into contact with Billy’s cock. “Anh—”

“Again, Dom,” Billy purrs. 

Dom thrashes under him suddenly. “Harder, Bill,” he insists, hating the whine in his voice, rage shuddering through his veins like poison even as Billy fills the ache in him. Dom’s hands twist and then move but Billy’s fast, his belly slapping down against Dom’s—crushing Dom’s cock between them so he grunts and bucks upward—as his small fingers encircle Dom’s wrists, pin them to the bed. 

“I won’t hurt you, Dom,” Billy says firmly. His hips never stop moving, and Dom can hear the tremor in his voice, and the steel.

“I want it—” Dom growls and writhes under Billy, seeking to provoke him, unseat him, fury snaking through him. He’ll get what he needs or have Billy, on his back and under him. His whole body tenses but Billy’s there before him, flat on him, thrusting hard and sweet to prevent Dom from rolling.

“You want it,” Billy says, and his breath is moist and warm on Dom’s skin; Dom’s cock is trapped between them and Billy moves, keeps moving, his hands tight and sure on Dom’s wrists as his breath huffs across Dom’s neck. “You want it, but you need something else.” His forehead rests against Dom’s collarbone, round and hard as a stone, wet with sweat.

Dom arches, driving himself up, seeking friction blindly. “More,” he cries, urgent. “I just—”

“No more.” Relentless. Billy lifts himself slightly, shifting, moving himself and also Dom, releasing his wrists but keeping his pelvis down to maintain that precious contact where Dom wants it most. “This. Only this.”

“Billy—” It’s a plea, desperate and hard.

Dom’s anger suffocates him, he can’t feel enough, doesn’t hurt enough, can’t get _there_ and so he tries, again and again, to follow that old path: hurt or be hurt, take when he isn’t taken. Each time he tries, Billy’s there before him, fingers slippery but sure, body moving mercilessly, mouth soft and hot and wet on Dom’s salty, overheated skin. 

Dom opens his mouth. Closes his eyes because when he comes at last it’s with a sob, and his whole body arches with it, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he shudders. “Please—” he chokes out. “Please.”

And Billy is still at last, holding him down as the climax picks him up, shakes him hard, wrings him out and drops him again, pleasure and urgency washing through him in slowly fading aftershocks. Weighted down, Billy’s breath quick in his ear, Billy’s nose pressed into his hair and Billy’s body sprawled across his. Billy’s hands splayed flat against his, matched finger to finger and palm to palm.

“Ah, shit,” Dom says, and a few more tears slide from under his closed lids.

Billy pulls out gently and moves, pulling Dom sideways, into his arms. “Shh,” he says. “You’re alright.”

Dom hiccups and nods, opening bleary eyes. “I will be.” He looks down; Billy is still hard and still wearing the condom; Dom’s come is smeared across his belly. His whole body gleams with sweat, and when Dom lifts his gaze, he sees that Billy’s face is red and shining, hair standing on end, green eyes kind and bright.

“Thank you,” Dom says. He tilts his chin up and kisses Billy for a long time.

“You’re welcome.” Billy tucks Dom’s head back into his neck.

But Dom wants to give back—something. And so he stays where he is, but slips his hand down Billy’s side to peel the condom off. Billy’s stomach tightens and he releases a shaky laugh. “What’re you doing?”

“Your turn,” Dom says as he tosses the latex sleeve away. He’s smiling, a little, when he wraps his fingers around Billy’s erection. “Just let me.”

“A’right…” Billy’s head falls back and a minute or so later his hand tightens on Dom’s bicep. His breath hitches and he says “Ah—ah—ah—” as he comes over Dom’s hand. He sags into the mattress, pulling Dom back down.

A long, soft time passes. Both men drift, dozing.

“What are you going to do?” Billy’s voice, barely audible, lilting.

Dom sighs and yawns, shifting over a bit and then curling tighter against Billy. “I don’t know. Surf some more. Sleep with you.”

“Not-sleep with me,” Billy suggests. 

“Definitely that,” Dom agrees. He sighs again and kisses Billy’s chest, licking the wiry hair. “You’re on retainer as my own personal sexual therapist.”

“What’s a gig like that pay?” Billy scritches Dom’s hair.

“I’ll double what I’m paying you now, my good man.”

Billy huffs a little laugh. “An offer I can hardly afford to turn down.” He turns his head, kisses Dom’s jaw. “And what else?”

“I dunno. Maybe… start reading scripts again.” Dom doesn’t quite want to think that far ahead. “We’ll see.”

“We shall see,” Billy says. “Before you do all that, would you like to take a shower with me?”

“That sounds a good idea.” Dom makes a face and peels himself away from Billy, getting a good look at his face again. “You’re a good mate, Billy Boyd.”

Billy blinks at him owlishly, but Dom can tell he’s pleased. “I know I am, Dominic Monaghan. I also know that you would do the same or better for me.”

“Yeah. Will do, someday, maybe.” Dom kisses Billy’s forehead and offers a hand, pulling Billy up.

 

 

Dom stays in Mexico for two more weeks—a week longer than he’d planned. He spends the time in the sun or the water or Billy’s bed. They make love tenderly, and neither man speaks much of the future or the past. It’s enough, for the moment, that they can hold one another. Sometimes Dom wishes things were different. He wishes that he could take Billy back to LA, or that he could move back to England. He speaks these wishes to Billy in the night, and Billy nods, and they both think about it. But they know that right now, this is the way things are. It might change in the future, or it might stay the same. 

Dom’s needs are still too raw and simple to allow much thought of the future. He’s busy, at the moment, slogging out of a year of lethargy and self-pity. When his back and shoulders ache with the weight of moving forward, the weight of all the shit and hurt and anger and passivity he nearly allowed to swallow him whole—then Billy is there, weight of a different kind, pulling him: a kick in the arse and a kiss on the lips. Billy holds Dom’s hand and helps him keep moving, reminds him to catalogue, to file it all away for later use. Sunlight and the ocean and darkness and Billy. 

When Dom does finally climb into the rental car to leave, he’s deeply tanned all over, and the night before has left him sore and sleepy, stretched but not bruised. Billy smiles at him, leaning against the hot metal of the car, and opens his arms. 

“I’ll be in LA before I go back home,” he says quietly into Dom’s hair.

“Yeah. Good.” Dom inhales the scent of him. Kisses his neck and then leans back to kiss his mouth, soft and shallow. Their lips press together, and their tongue touch briefly, almost decorously, before Billy releases Dom and steps away from the vehicle.

“Love you.”

“I love you, too. Thanks.” Dom pulls his sunglasses off the roof of the car and puts them on. 

As he drives away he glances into the rearview mirror once to see Billy’s figure, straight and slim. His back is to Dom and the beach, walking into the small house. Dom lets his eyes go back to the road before Billy disappears, and he takes a deep breath.


End file.
